


Euphrosyne

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Man in the High Castle (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 15:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: There are so many missed birthdays to make up for.In honour of Joe's birthday on April 10th. :P





	

“For all the missed birthdays,” his father says, his hand a reassuring weight on his shoulder, just like Joe had wished for in all those year, on all those missed birthdays. They just stepped out of the house and Martin Heusmann presented his birthday present to him with a generous hand gesture and a wide smile: A sleek silver BMW cabriolet with a large red bow on the hood and it's like a dream come true.

Joe strolls over to have a closer look, it's a gorgeous car, perfect. He feels giddy with joy. He runs his hand over the smooth paint in admiration when his father steps up behind him.

“Do you like it?” he asks and Joe nods, because it is a wonderful gift, he could not be happier, but then his father comes another tiny bit closer, so close they are almost touching. Just a few more inches and he'd be flush against Joe's back and somewhere in the back of Joe's mind an alarm goes off. He doesn't move, just stands rooted to the spot and waits with bated breath.

It's surreal when it happens. Martin Heusmann reaches around him, in a fashion reminding of a man embracing his wife, and puts his hand on Joe's stomach, a possessive sprawl that makes Joe queasy. And then his father leans even closer. His breath is hot against Joe's ear when he says: 

“Daddy loves you so much, Joseph,” which is about as wrong as it gets. Joe would have loved to hear that when he was four or five, his father handing him a toy car and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, but now it's pretty much the worst thing Joe could imagine his father saying. He's not _that_ , not with him.

He's still trying to come to terms with the strangeness of his father's confession, when Heusmann's hand begins to glide downwards and Joe's skin freezes. He always dreamed of an affectionate father – but not like this.

The sun is warm and bright and they're standing in the yard, in front of the house, where everyone can see them, Frau Sylvia, the bodyguards, his adjutant, anybody on the property, but Martin Heusmann couldn't care less, it seems. He acts as if this is perfectly natural behaviour of a father towards a son, even as his hand is pressing against the front of Joe's trousers, greedy, cupping his cock through the fabric. Joe shivers when his father's lips brush over the sensitive skin of his neck.

“You're such a lovely boy, Joseph,” Heusmann murmurs while he is stroking Joe through his trousers, and Joe, oh poor little Joseph can't help himself, his body betrays him as readily as always; it doesn't seem to care much that the man touching him is his own father, it doesn't take any persuasion or wicked tricks to arouse him, on the contrary his father has barely begun and Joe's cock is already half-hard.

He feels sick, because it's wrong and even more because he wants this regardless, he wants this exactly _because_ it is so wrong. To have his own father's fingers stroking his hardening cock, makes his insides squirm with just the right kind of horror. The pleasure is paralysing, petrifying, he can't move, he can't refuse (how could he?); there's only one thing he can do and that is letting it happen. 

Martin Heusmann makes the half-step that still separated them, closing the last distance between them, and then his erection is pressing against Joe's butt, promise or threat, he can even feel it through all the layers of fabric and Joe has to bite his lip to stifle a moan. He's not sure whether he's afraid or excited, but there's still the hand over his crotch and he wants to push back against it to increase the friction.

“You look so much like your mother,” his father whispers, rocking into him, just the tiniest bit, but Joe can hear what it does to him, grinding his cock against Joe's arse, the little hitch in his breath. Heusmann's arousal gives him the tiniest bit of power, so Joe is also moving now, wiggling against his father, just a little but enough to elicit a low groan and another feverish whisper against his ear.

“I should have known you're a slut, just like her,” Heusmann says, breathless, while his hand fumbles with Joe's trousers, impatient to get them open. It doesn't take long until he's successful. He doesn't bother with undressing Joe further, just reaches inside his briefs, wraps his fingers around his cock. It's throbbing, the tip wet. His father's judgement of character is so accurate, of course.

“I wonder if you moan just as prettily as her when I fuck you, Joseph,” his father says, rubbing his thumb over the tip of Joe's cock, just a little bit too rough, and Joe can't help the noise escaping his mouth, a small and desperate sound. How he dreads the thought, how much he wants to find out.

“Yes, just like that,” his father says, apparently pleased by his whimpers, and begins to stroke him properly, and Joe can't think of anything but that sensation of a firm grasp on his cock and how Heusmann would feel inside him. It doesn't take long until he is losing control, he was never good at containing himself, not when he's being touched like this. Not when he feels so wanted.

His father is holding him through his climax, his hands strong, his voice a soft lull at the fringes of Joe's consciousness. “That's it, that's my boy,” he murmurs when Joe is coming, repeats it again and again like a lullaby, but his mouth his still hungry against Joe's neck, his cock still pushing against Joe's arse, hard and impatient. This is not over yet. 

Heusmann has Joe lick his hand clean before he suggests they get inside to continue the celebration. 

“So many missed birthdays,” his father says when they walk back to the house, his arm around Joe's shoulder. “So much to make up for.”

~


End file.
